


PYNK

by walkwithursus



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cigarettes, Clothing Kink, F/F, First Meetings, Knifeplay, Knives, Makeup, gendered slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 19:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: Neon and Ultra meet at a house show. The opposite of a meet-cute (or is it)?





	PYNK

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Mighty Boosh Theme Week. Prompt was Fashion/Clothing. 
> 
> Loosely based on a real life experience.

Whoever decided that house shows were the next big thing in the underground music scene was a fucking twat, and given the opportunity, Neon would slice them up in an instant. Unfortunately, seeing as she was sort of between-bands at the moment, she’d come to one anyway. 

The place was small and shitty, a semi-permanent venue with a revolving door of whippit addicts masquerading as live-in caretakers. They didn’t card, obviously, and so after having her bag searched and paying the 5 Euro door-fee, Neon shoved her way through the entrance and into the packed venue. A few well delivered elbows and crunched toes later and she’d carved herself a spot in the front left corner closest to the stage. 

One of the opening bands was playing - one of many, according to the setlist. That was one of the worst things about house shows; they were always too long by a mile, run by a bunch of kids desperate to hook their friends up with some spotlight. It wasn’t uncommon to have eight or nine different bands perform in a single unrelenting stream. Neon could usually suffer through about half a dozen performances before writing the whole thing off and stumbling home. And judging by the first shitshow of the evening, tonight was unlikely to be any different. 

_Phaser Lloyd_ exited the stage to scattered applause. Neon glanced around to see what sort of dickhead would actually clap for such mediocrity when something - no, _someone,_ caught her attention toward the back of the venue, a slim, willowy creature whose crossed arms and cocked hip embodied the boredom that was tearing Neon apart inside. Bright, platinum blond hair covered the eyes and most of the woman’s face, but that didn’t matter, because more than anything it was her clothing that drew the gaze. 

She was wearing what appeared to be a pink swimsuit, or more likely lingerie beneath a fishnet bodystocking. Against the drab grey walls the woman stood out like a bubblegum advert, a neon pink sign that flickered in and out of view as the crowd thrashed around her. Neon fought to keep her in focus, but she blinked once and the woman was gone. 

The next few bands came and went. Fewer and fewer people applauded with every set change, trickling in and out at random as they waited fruitlessly for whichever band they’d come to see to take the stage. The restless energy of the crowd was keying Neon up, making her blood sizzle, and after scouting a path through the swarm of bodies she slunk off toward the toilet for a quiet cigarette. 

The restroom had been remodeled at some point to befit a concert venue, boasting a collection of shoddy plywood stalls. Neon barely had time to appreciate their existence before her attention was captured by the bright pink figure in the center of the room.

It was the woman from earlier, live and in the flesh. The fluorescents and close proximity allowed Neon a better look than the ones she’d stolen in the venue, and she was not disappointed. The back of the girl’s knickers were wedged up her arse crack in standard thong fashion, while two pink bikini strings split her otherwise perfectly pale back into two segments. She stood opposite the mirror, slowly applying fluorescent lipstick around and around her pouty pink mouth. Once finished, she stretched forward on her high-heeled toes and planted an obscene, tacky kiss on her reflection. 

Neon stood rooted to the spot. It was as though she’d stepped into some chauvinistic male fantasy flick, or worse, the beginning of a girl-on-girl porno. When at last she unthawed, Neon’s footsteps clicked on the tile as she walked heel-to-toe to the other side of the bathroom counter. The toilet was cramped, close, and as she skirted the girl’s thrust out backside the urge to reach out and pinch her, to smack the creamy white skin of her arse cheeks was so strong Neon had to clench her fists. Side by side at last, their eyes met in the mirror. Neon smirked. 

“Nice outfit,” she said, shaking a cigarette out of the packet from her purse. When the woman didn’t respond quickly enough she scowled. “Oi! Did you hear what I said?”

Black-rimmed eyes swiveled toward Neon in the mirror. “Yeah,” the stranger answered, her voice a disinterested sigh. “I heard you. What, are you jealous?”

“Ha! I don’t think so,” Neon scoffed, though standing beside one another it was abundantly clear that her pinks just didn’t pop as bright. 

“Whatever,” was the woman’s answer. With a curled upper lip she turned to make her way out of the bathroom, but not before one bony elbow knocked the packet of cigarettes out of Neon’s hands and onto the sticky tile floor. “Oops,” she said sweetly.

Neon’s mouth popped open in shock. Before the pink slut could reach the door, Neon marched up behind her and yanked her back by the white-blond extensions. As though she’d been anticipating this, the half-naked stranger pivoted and shoved out, striking Neon so hard in the chest that she collapsed backwards over the sink counter. Pain exploded up and down her spine like electricity on a telephone wire. But she rebounded quickly, using the counter for momentum to charge the woman into the opposite wall. They tussled there for a minute, trading slaps and clawing at each other’s arms until a loud rip gave them both pause. One of Neon’s acrylics had caught on the fishnet bodysuit, tearing a small hole in the upper arm. 

The woman stared in shock from the hole to Neon’s face. “You’ll pay for that, bitch!” 

“Oh, really? Well, in that case - “ 

Neon flicked a pocket knife from the front of her trousers and brought the blade to one of the hundreds of little diamonds that made up the bodystocking. With a frenzied grin, she sliced the fabric in one long split from sternum to collar, as all the while the blond girl hissed threats in her ear.

At that moment, the door to the bathroom swung open and an older woman entered. She paused, wide-eyed at the two women grappling with one another, bleeding from the scratches on their arms and wrestling over a knife. 

“What’s going on? _Stop!_ Stop what you’re doing or I’m calling the police!”

Neon stopped up short, as did the little pink slut she’d been wrestling with. In tandem, they turned to glower at the intruder, releasing each other in the process. 

“Don’t you dare,” Neon said, gripping the knife saliently at the level of her waist. Seeing the blade now pointed at herself, the old woman began fumbling for her cell phone. 

Neon stepped forward hastily, but was blocked by the blond girl, who took one long stride and snatched the phone out of the woman’s hands. 

“Get out of here, grandma!” She commanded, dropping the device and grinding it under her heel. 

The woman didn’t need telling twice. With one last frantic glance between the two girls, she turned and fled the bathroom, leaving her cell phone behind. Once she was gone the blond girl bent over and picked it up. 

“Cool,” she remarked, slipping the damp phone into the cup of her bra. 

And then they were alone again, staring one another down between pants and sniffs. The seconds ticked by, laced with tension and promises of pain to come. But then someone laughed and the moment was gone, and they took to wiping up their arms side by side with dampened paper towels from the dispenser.

Eventually they left the bathroom and returned to the show. The blond girl, whose name turned out to be Ultra, introduced Neon to her boyfriend Johnny. 

“Johnny Two Hats,” the guy said, sticking out his hand for a shake. Neon shook it and didn’t ask about the twin fedoras perched atop his crown. 

They took to slinking around the back of the venue together, the three of them, commenting and gesticulating their disapproval at each band in turn. When Johnny asked why Ultra’s body suit was torn up, she told him she’d done it herself for the sake of fashion. Being a stupid, ignorant man, he believed her, and the two girls shared a private smile behind his back. 

That night, Neon stayed until the end of the show. And it was worth it, because by the time she caught the underground home at half past three, she’d found herself a new band. And judging by Johnny and Ultra’s looks alone, _Kraftwerk Orange_ was going to be the next big thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on the song PYNK by Janelle Monáe


End file.
